


This Christmas

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Image, Comfort Sex, Community: daily_deviant, Community: kinky_kristmas, F/M, First Time, Kissing, Lingerie, Oral Sex, Romance, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas Eve at the Ministry party when Lavender begs help from Neville. Last year her heart was broken; maybe this year he can help make everything better!</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Kinky Kristmas 2013 at daily_deviant on Insanejournal. When I saw the pairing, I wanted the prompt. I loved the idea of the heartbreak and romance all at once, and the sweetness of it. I don’t own the characters or world of Harry Potter, but it was fun to write this story.

“Neville, I need you.”

He turns as Lavender speaks, the cup in his hand almost sloshing champagne over her dress. He lifts it up quickly, and if a few drops fall on his own robes, it’s no bother, really. Not when Lavender links one arm with his, her hands clutching him, tugging him towards the dance floor.

Neville quickly sets his glass down on one of the floating trays and it is whisked away. “To dance? Lav… your toes…”

She laughs, the sound bright and brittle, turning more than one head in their direction. Under the regard of so many watchful faces, Neville flushes warmly, but he gathers her in, aware that he is being borrowed to put on a show.

It’s not the first time. It probably won’t be the last, either. If Lavender needs him, Neville will be there. Always.

His arms slide down her back, settling at her hips. “It’s your fault if I trod on your toes,” he warns.

“You won’t.” She leans in, tall enough in her heels to brush a kiss against his cheek. “I’ve danced with you before, remember? You took those lessons back in fourth year for the ball. Ginny said you were a wonder compared to almost everyone else she danced with.”

The flush only deepens at her praise. “Girls seem to like it. That I can dance.” And that he’s not afraid to end up on the dance floor, too. Oh, he’ll protest, of course, saying that he’ll step on their toes, but that’s because they can do _better_. But he’s happy to dance, enjoys it even, the feel of a girl’s body against his, swaying lightly to the music like Lavender is now. Still. It begs the question… “Is there a reason why you need me in particular, Lavender?”

Her smile is a shade too wide as they spin to the music for just a moment, then they settle back to swaying and her head drops against his shoulder. “Because you’re _you_ , Nev. Because I trust you.” He feels the way she moves, imagines her biting her lip in the way she does when she lets the mask fall away, her face hidden by his chest and robes. “Seamus is here.”

“Oh.” He tilts her head back, fingers gentle as they slide through the wisps of hair at the back of her neck. His thumb touches her cheek, and she leans into it. “Is he… is he with someone?”

Lavender nods slowly, her eyes closed, expression pained. “Susan Bones. I wouldn’t have cared except… she’s wearing a ring.” She laughs softly, the sound low and husky, entirely different from the shrill giggle she gives to the public. “He’s getting married, and he hasn’t even told me.”

She doesn’t need to say that it should be _her_. Neville knows. He has always known, ever since Hogwarts. His roommates had everything perfectly laid out before them: Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Dean and Parvati, and Seamus and Lavender. But now, after the war is done, everything has turned upside down, and he was there when Lavender was shattered.

She curls in closer to him, rubbing her face against his robes, and he is sure that she leaves small streaks behind from her eye makeup and tears. 

“Do you want to go?” he offers quietly. “Do you want to make a show of it? I’ll kiss you here, and he’ll see that your heart’s not broken. That he’s not the only one to have moved on.”

Lavender pulls back slightly, and he thinks how unfair it is that she is still so beautiful, even with her eyes rimmed in red and black, a mix of tears and kohl. She tugs at his heart, and has no idea what it does to him when she nods slowly, a smile beginning. “That would be perfect, Nev. We’ll show him that I don’t need to cry over him anymore.”

Neville thinks that he ought to be in control of this, but now that Lavender has a plan, there is no holding her back. She pushes up on her tip-toes, her arms going over his shoulders so her hands can clasp behind his head. She sways closer to him, body pressed along his at all the right points just as her lips brush his.

Fairy light at first—just a quick brush and taste of champagne—before she leans closer and flicks her tongue against his lips. It’s not like kissing a friend—one of his _best_ friends. It’s the sudden swift kick in the bollocks that is a lover’s kiss, her tongue sliding sweetly into his mouth to taste him and tease him into coming back to taste her in return. They break for a moment, and he can’t help but nip her lower lip, catching it in his teeth and tugging until she grins and slots their mouths together again for another round.

There’s a gentle cough nearby. Neville realizes that others on the dance floor are staring, and he goes red right out to the tips of his ears. They’ve become the show he promised, and they aren’t quite done yet. “Ah. Er.” He looks at her and gently kisses the tip of her nose. “I think others might be a bit more comfortable if we went home right about now.”

Lavender slides out of his hold, her fingers tangling in his. Her lips are cherry red and slightly swollen, and her tongue glides over the bottom one; he can’t help but watch it. She smiles slowly. “Let’s go back to mine,” she says softly. 

Neville is helpless to do anything but agree. He catches sight of Seamus watching them leave, feels the burn of that gaze against his back when they exit the room. But they don’t stop, simply collecting their outer robes quickly and shrugging into them before they rush to the apparition point. Lavender wraps her arms around Neville again, and he loses his breath entirely when her mouth finds his.

There is no one looking, there is no need, but he cannot deny that it may be the most pleasure he has ever taken in side-along apparition. Her taste is a drug, and he’s becoming addicted just like he has always known he would if he ever had the chance. He will willingly drown in her, if she lets him, so he holds on tight and follows wherever she leads.

#

When they step into her flat, Neville holds back, closing the door slowly and watching her as she shrugs out of her heavy winter cloak, tossing it over the back of a chair. She turns back to him with a small smile. “You don’t need to stand there by the door. Take off your outer robes… take off the formal ones, too. Be comfortable.”

“Lavender.” He hesitates before his fingers find the fastenings of his outer robes. “I can’t take the rest off,” he says quietly. “I think that might be a bit too comfortable for your comfort.” His flush still stains his skin, because he is a fully traditional wizard beneath the robes. “I don’t need to stay, either, unless you’d like company. I think Seamus has already made up his mind what’s happening between us, and he’s not likely to come pounding on your door to find out if it’s true.”

There is a flash of hurt in her eyes, and he feels guilty the moment the words slip free. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, but she shakes her head, one hand up.

“No, it’s okay. He believed us, which is good, but it doesn’t really matter in the end. It’s just… I wanted him to remember what he’s missing.” She smoothes her skirt, hands sliding over the bright satin. “I’m going to go get changed. And yes, I’d like you to stay. For a little while. It’s Christmas Eve, and since we’re not at the party any more, we might as well enjoy our evening in. I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather spend it with, right now. You’re a dear friend, Neville.” Lavender covers the distance between them in a few quick steps, capturing his shoulders and pulling herself close to kiss his cheek.

He can smell her perfume—a mix of lavender and vanilla—and it washes over him quickly before she pulls away. She toes off her shoes and kicks them under the coffee table before she wiggles her fingers in a small wave and heads down the hall.

Neville sinks down to sit on the couch, hands clasped between his knees. It isn’t the first time he’s been in Lavender’s flat. He’s familiar with the way the second-hand couch sinks down in the middle, and the fact that Lavender isn’t exactly neat. There are shoes under almost every table and bit of furniture, and she has a habit of undressing in the middle of things, so he had long ago become accustomed to bras hanging over backs of chairs. It’s cluttered, but not dirty, and when he looks around, every inch of it reminds him of _Lavender_ more than anything else, even the hint of vanilla in the air from the array of candles he knows covers the table in the small kitchenette. 

They’ve known each other for years now, but they’ve only been close for the last year or so. Ever since last Christmas, when he made certain she got home safe from this very same Ministry party, right after Seamus Finnigan broke her heart.

It seems like they’ve just come around again to the same old place, and he worries about her.

“Why so serious?” She finishes tying the belt on her wrap before she drops onto the couch next to him, her feet tucked up under her hip, body curled against him. She takes his arm and holds it, leaning on his shoulder. “Do you want to watch something? I could turn on the telly.”

He shakes his head, fingers still tangled together, knuckles white. “I can’t stay late.” Neville tries to come up with an excuse, but one doesn’t come, so he falls silent after saying just that. It’s not enough, not when she gives him that startled look and he realizes that she’s come to depend on him.

He’s always here, always letting her cry on his shoulder. And he knows it doesn’t mean the same for her as it does for him. But he’s not sure he can do it again.

She touches the back of his neck. “What’s wrong?”

Neville gives her a rueful look. “That’s my line, isn’t it? Seamus is an arse. I mean. I can’t see what he was thinking, breaking it off like that last year. He’d loved you for so long, then just like that… he’s done. Because of something absolutely _stupid_.”

“It’s not completely stupid.” Lavender ducks her head and her hair falls over the scars. He’d been so proud of her earlier, when he’d first seen her at the party with her hair pulled back and twisted up, little strands escaping to frame her face. She had reminded him of the girl he used to know, who was proud of her appearance, not afraid of the remnants of the war that showed in her skin.

Neville reaches out for her, thumb beneath a strand of hair, tucking it back behind her ear. “It _is_ stupid. If he can’t look past the scars to see the beauty, then he’s an absolute idiot with his head up his arse, and you deserve better than him.”

“Part of it _is_ my fault,” Lavender reminds him. “I didn’t feel all that forgiving of him after the hospital.”

The hospital. When she’d spent three months recovering, and Seamus had come in once to see her, and immediately left after seeing the mess Greyback had made of her. He hadn’t come back, and it had been Neville who came to sit with her, stopping in after he saw his parents weekly. He had brought Bill and Fleur Weasley in, and they’d helped Lavender come to terms with how the bite affected her life. Neville shakes his head. “You still loved him, though. And after the hospital…”

“Afterwards, he tried. Right up until he decided to break it off in the middle of the Ministry holiday party.” Lavender’s smile is rueful. “You’re right, Nev. I deserve better. I deserve someone who sees _me_.”

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Neville tells her, because she _did._ Does. He flushes all over again. “You still look beautiful, but at the party you looked lovely. Everyone was watching you, and not because you had scars. Because they wanted to watch you. You’re confident. You’re strong.”

“So are you,” Lavender points out, and Neville blinks.

“No one watches me.” He still can’t get used to the idea that a year and a half ago he did something that people keep trying to call him a hero for. He just did what had to be done, as far as he’s concerned. There was nothing heroic involved.

Lavender twists until she is kneeling on the couch next to him. She takes one of his hands in hers, cradling it and squeezing lightly. “Yeah, they do. You just don’t notice. I listen to girls telling me all the time how lucky I am to have you, and I feel bad after because I don’t correct them. I don’t tell them that you don’t think of me like that, and that they might have a chance, because I don’t want them to.”

All of a sudden, Neville has a feeling he has no idea what she’s talking about. His brow furrows, head cocked slightly as he looks at her. “I don’t understand.”

Her lower lip is caught in her teeth, the skin going red beneath the bite as she worries at it. “I’ve been cock-blocking you, and I’m sorry.”

He blinks, because that didn’t actually help. “Excuse me?”

“If I said I didn’t want to be alone tonight, would you stay?”

It isn’t an answer, not really, even though Neville knows what his heart wants it to mean. “Of course,” he says. “I’ve stayed before. I can go home and get some pyjamas and be back—”

Her hand squeezes his quickly. “No. I mean…” Lavender wets her lips with her tongue, inhales roughly. “I mean the no pyjamas sort of sleepover.”

“Er.” Neville can’t deny the swift rush of blood that thought sends to his groin, leaving him aching and confused all at once. She sits there, her hair curled in ringlets around her face, almost but not quite covering the scars. Her robe has slipped off her shoulder, and he can see the soft lavender lace of her bra strap against the pale skin, and a hint of freckles that he keeps forgetting she has hidden there.

He’s seen her almost naked before. He spent so much time with her in the hospital, helping her when she had no way to do things for herself. He’s helped massage out tender and worn muscles, he’s helped rub ointment into her scars to relax them so they didn’t tighten up. But he’s never seen anything as lovely as she looks now, her face twisted into a mask of uncertainty, her lip bright red from being bitten. She starts to turn away and he slides his hand behind her head, cradling her gently.

“You miss Seamus,” he says slowly, still trying to figure out what is happening.

She nods once, then shakes her head. “This isn’t about Seamus. It hurt when he rejected me, and it hurt tonight when I saw him with Susan. But they’ll be happy. And me… I’ve been happy since the war; it just took time for me to see it. Sometimes it’s hard to open your eyes and see the thing standing right in front of you.”

“Me?”

Lavender’s smile blooms bright. “You.”

“And you want me to stay.” Which isn’t because of Seamus, although Neville gets the feeling that it is still a little bit because of Seamus. He destroyed her self-confidence, and Neville would be happy to help build it up. He waits until she nods, until she says _yes_ perfectly clearly, before he leans in and kisses her again.

He teases her mouth slowly, waiting to see if she’ll open for him again, wanting to know how different it is when it isn’t just for show. She still tastes the same, and it drugs him that she gives this to him.

He wants to tell her how he feels—how he has felt for the last year—but he can’t. Not yet, not when this is precious and new. Maybe after the holiday, when he sees if this is a gift for Christmas or something that is meant to take them into the new year. Maybe he can tell her, give her the words that want to spill out.

For now, though, Neville will try to tell her with his kisses, with the light touch on her shoulders, fingers skimming over soft flesh. She sighs when he tucks a finger under the strap and eases it over her shoulder.

“Please,” she whispers, and Neville is happy to oblige.

She shrugs and her wrap opens, sliding away as he teases the strap down, letting the bra cup gap around her breast. His breath hitches when he kisses across her collarbone, tongue sliding against her skin before he tastes a path down lower. A small nudge and her nipple peeks above the line of her bra so he can catch it in his teeth. He groans when she whimpers, when she whispers _please_ and he obliges by suckling carefully.

“We should be in a bed,” he murmurs softly, because he wouldn’t argue with the idea of a shag on the sofa, but he also wants room to spread her out and worship her body until she can’t help but scream.

She laughs, that low husky sound that burns in his gut. “Handily I have one.” She pulls back, and somehow when she stands, the wrap is left behind in a pool of satin on the couch.

Neville didn’t think he could be harder, but he _is_. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, because oh dear Merlin, she is amazing. The bra is half off, the one strap dangling off her shoulder, the cup pushed beneath her breast. Her knickers are a lacy scrap of lavender that matches the bra, and he can already see a damp spot between her legs. She flushes as he looks at her, and her hands go to her belly, trying to cover the silvered lines that mesh over her side.

He quickly slides forward to take Lavender’s hands, holding them back so he can kiss the raised web of scars. “ _All_ of you is beautiful,” he assures her as he sits on the edge of the sofa, his lips and mouth assuring her that every bit of skin is sacred, whether it is creamy and smooth or whether it is taut with cursed scars that can never be erased. He follows the scars like a map, in towards her belly then out again to the high bone of her hip. He sucks his own marks into her skin where he kisses, leaving behind small dots of red.

“Nev…” Her voice is a whisper, her fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up and sees the flush of her skin, the way she is waiting, and he gives up on the idea of a bed. It can wait until later. Until the next time. Right now all he wants to do is see her shake apart for him and know just how precious she is.

“May I?” He hooks a finger in the edge of her knickers, and as soon as she nods he slides them down. His large hands frame her hips, tugging her forward until his tongue can trace the edge of the scar that was hidden beneath her knickers, sliding across her soft belly and down. Her curls are sparse and as gold as the hair on her head. Tiny droplets glisten there, and he looks up her body, silently asking once more and waiting.

Lavender laughs again, the sound almost strangled, twisting low in his gut as she wavers towards him. Her fingers hold onto his head, driving him down, pushing him as she begs, “Please,” and Neville is more than happy to oblige.

His tongue flicks out, teasing along her slit, tasting her musk. She whimpers, fingers tight in his hair, and he has to shift his hold, wanting to make sure she doesn’t fall but at the same time, wanting to give everything he can to her. He holds her with one hand on her bottom, using the fingers of his other hand to spread her open, letting him touch her clit with his tongue, teasing around it until she cries out and wavers in his grasp. He strokes slowly along her lower lips, spreading sticky, slippery fluid until he can slip two fingers inside of her, fucking her slowly while he sucks at her clit. She whines above him, her body shaking as he buries his face in her fanny, suckling and licking until he feels her shudder and clench around his fingers.

He manages to catch her when her knees give out and she crumples towards the ground. He cradles her close and kisses her, smiling when she licks his lips and smiles at the taste of herself.

“Now I think you need that bed,” he murmurs, and he lifts her to carry her down the hall to her room.

Lavender is boneless and smiling when he puts her on the bed, reaching up to pull him down to kiss him again. “Get undressed,” she orders and Neville is very happy to comply.

He hesitates though as soon as his fingers touch the fastenings of his robes. He isn’t fit like Seamus. He’s not an Auror or any kind of law enforcement. He’s an herbologist, and he spends his days with plants and his fingers live in the dirt. He’s not shaped like he was as a child, but he still has soft edges rather than hard planes, and as many times as he’s spent the night here, he’s never undressed in front of Lavender.

“It’s not fair,” she tells him as she pushes herself to sitting. She has a loose-limbed grace and an ease in her body, as if she’s unaware that she’s still wearing half a bra, and her skin is still flushed a pale rose. “You’ve seen me naked. Even before tonight, you saw me in the hospital. You actually helped wash my body. But I’ve never seen you, not even when we were all stuck in the Room of Requirement, wedged in like cattle. And you can’t possibly think I’d be turned off by your scars, not when you…” Her voice trails off as one hand lightly touches her own scars, lingering over the mess that Greyback made of her body.

Lavender stands and her hands push at his, making space so that she can deftly undo the buttons of his robes. When she pushes them back, she laughs again, leaning in to kiss his chest. “A traditional wizard. I like that.” She pulls his robes down until he stands there in only his pants and his socks, and she doesn’t seem to care that he feels awkward and uncertain. Instead she presses herself against him, kissing him lightly while her hand slides down his body, lingering over his stomach for just a moment before it goes lower and caresses his cotton-clad prick.

His hips jerk without him thinking about it, pressing against the curve of her fingers, and he curses under his breath. “Fuck. Lavender. If you do that…” When he looks at her, she is biting her lip, the smile held back by her teeth, and he groans. “I want you,” he admits. “Very much so.”

“I can tell.” She strokes his prick again, her confidence shining through now. “And I want you to shag me. Right in the middle of my bed, I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming. But…” She tugs at her lip with her teeth. “I want to do this first.” And her fingers go beneath his pants then, finding his bollocks and rolling them firmly before she wraps her fingers around his prick. “Do you think you can hold on?”

“It’s going to be hard,” he tells her, his legs already shaking from the need to finish this.

She flashes a grin. “Well, I’d hope so. It’d be rather difficult to finish things off if you go soft.”

Lavender sits back on the bed, pulling him with her, mirroring the same position he’d had on the sofa not all that long ago. She doesn’t push his pants all the way off, just tucks them beneath his bollocks, giving herself plenty of access to play with them while she touches her tongue to the tip of his prick.

It takes everything he has not to come down her throat as she slides her mouth over him, taking him in before she hollows her cheeks and pulls back. His eyes flutter closed for a moment and he groans, hands flexing and clenching at his sides while he struggles to keep control.

He can’t not watch, though. Neville has to open his eyes, wanting to see the way she teases him, her blond hair curling over naked shoulders as she bobs along his prick, her small hand stroking what she can’t fit in her mouth. It is almost too much, when her fingers snake back to stroke his perineum in time with the way she sucks his prick. He groans in frustration, hands finally catching at her shoulders. “Stop. Please.”

Lavender lets him slip out of her mouth, lips red and bruised as she looks up at him. She doesn’t say a word, just slides back on the bed so that she can lie there, legs spread, hands held out as she waits for him.

He doesn’t make her wait long, crawling onto the bed to cover her, his hard length nestled against the soft warmth between her legs. He could slide in, he knows, but once he does this will be all over, and he’s not ready for that. Not yet. Instead her kisses her shoulder, sucking a small mark there while she arches beneath him, her breast pressed against his palm. He nudges down the other side of her bra, teasing her nipple before he bends to take it in his mouth. He wants her incoherent when she comes, he wants her to explode. So he teases her now until her hips start to move against him, sliding under his length.

She hooks one leg around him, tilting her hips and she is so slick that he slides inside her warmth, stretching her to accommodate the thickness of his prick. It feels like coming home, like this is the thing he has waited his entire life to have. He places his palm against her cheek and she meets his gaze and nods slowly; Neville begins to move.

He wants to take it slow and easy, to fuck for hours until she comes apart at the seams and has no more orgasms left. But his body won’t let him, and neither will she. She pulls him down closer, claiming his mouth and pressing her body into him, encouraging him with soft sounds and pleading words until he pinches her nipple and she cries out. He presses into her slowly at first, but soon his hips are moving, snapping, pushing deep and she meets him thrust for thrust. He feels her fingers at his back, nails digging in with surprising strength and he remembers then that she has something of a wolf inside her. He whines his assent and she clings harder, scraping tender skin, and he can’t help himself as he buries himself within her and shudders through his orgasm.

She whines in frustration and he pulls back to see her eyes blown wide, pupils black and dark. She is panting and when he tilts his hips, she lifts her own, meeting his careful thrust. He can’t leave her like this, unsatisfied and frustrated, but he is already going soft and slipping free of her body.

“Hang on, love,” he murmurs, and he pulls out so that he can replace his prick with his hand, three fingers sliding into her easily, his thumb circling on her clit. Her hips buck into his touch and he pushes in hard, making it rough because she seems to like it. He lowers his mouth to her nipple, catching it with tongue and teeth, sucking hard as he drives into her and feels her break around him in a flood of warmth.

His own breath is rough as he stretches out next to her and kisses her slowly. She kisses him back, then sighs and curls against him, head pillowed on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his, her wet warmth against his hip. He lets his hand stroke down her back, soft and easy as her breath slows.

“It’s Christmas tomorrow,” she whispers, mouth tracing lazy patterns on his skin. “I want to wake up with you. Like this.”

“You can have me all day if you’d like,” he responds, voice just as soft, not wanting to break the spell. “Until it’s time to clean up and go see Gran. You can come with me if you’d like.”

“To see your Gran? On Christmas?” There are questions in Lavender’s eyes, uncertainty making small lines in her skin.

“As my girlfriend.” Neville feels like he might choke on the words, as scared as he is to say them. But they are easier to put out than the much bigger words that he has been holding back for so long because she was never his to say them to. “If that’s what you’d like. If this isn’t just… if we’re not just…”

“We’re not just,” she tells him. “We’re not. I’ve been… I want this. Us. If you do.”

“I do,” he assures her. “I very much do.”

“Good.” Lavender places her hand over his heart, fingers light before she presses her palm down and smiles in his shoulder. “It will be a lovely Christmas gift to wake up with you,” she murmurs.

Neville makes a soft sound to agree, but he thinks she might be already asleep. It will be a perfect Christmas, and with luck in a week, it will be the best start to the new year. He kisses her cheek, mouthing words against her skin before he cradles her close and lets himself drift.


End file.
